Miracle of the Moment
by RZZMG
Summary: Regrets about the past can cause you to miss the miracle of the moment right now before your eyes… Hermione struggles to let go of her life in England, while making a new one with Draco half a world away. Draco x Hermione/Dramione. Romance/Drama/AU War scenario. 2017 Dramione-Duet Fic Exchange entry #1 of 2. COMPLETE!


**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

 **This was my first of two 2017 Dramione-Duet Fic Exchange Fest (dramione-duet . livejournal . com) entries. The fest is long over and reveals are out, so now I can post this for you here. This fanfic is finished. It is a one-shot.**

 _My Duet partner was: bentnotbroken1_

 _My prompts for the fest were: star-crossed lovers on the run; moon over the ocean/salty breeze/reminiscence; Voldemort wins/underground resistance/Draco is a turncoat; "What if?"; kink-biting._

 **Thank you to Ningloreth, the fest mod, for running this wonderful fest again!**

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 **DISCLAIMER: "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This fanfiction was written entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.**

 **TIMELINE: A/U Second Wizarding War (1998-2002).**

 **MAIN CHARACTERS FEATURED (alphabetical order, last name): Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger-Malfoy**

 **SECONDARY CHARACTERS FEATURED (alphabetical order, last name): Harry Potter + original characters**

 **SUMMARY: Regrets about the past can cause you to miss the miracle of the moment right now before your eyes… Hermione struggles to let go of her life in England, while making a new one with Draco half a world away.**

 **RATING: R (M)**

 **WARNINGS: War A/U, Pregnancy, non-explicit sex, reference to secondary character murder (off-screen)**

 **EXTRA NOTES: Title of the fic comes from the song of the same name by Steven Curtis Chapman, which I used for inspiration when writing this story.**

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 ** _MIRACLE OF THE MOMENT_**

 ** _By: RZZMG_**

* * *

I stare out over the wide, warm expanse of rolling ocean, enchanted by the way the moonlight dances across its shifting, teal-coloured surface, and am reminded of another island thousands of miles away from us. Its beaches are not soft and white. Its surrounding sea is a cold, dark cloak. Its only siren songs are the wails of the Inferi sunk at its depths to guard its shores.

"What if…?"

I turn to my husband, who swishes a palm frond around at his feet, as if it is his long-lost wand.

"Do you ever wonder what life might have been like if we'd stayed?"

He tosses the broken branch aside and claps the sand from his hands. "I don't need to wonder. I saw what they did to Theo, remember?"

His best friend had been tortured and crucified by his own father at the will of the Dark Lord, propped up and left to rot at the gates of Hogwarts to serve as an example to all who would attempt to run. The picture of his decaying form had appeared in every wizarding newspaper in the world to serve not just as a warning to his homegrown enemies, but to other Ministries as well: _Do not interfere, or else._ Draco and I had made it out days before, hiding within the cargo of a steamer to Jamaica. When he'd attempted to follow, the heir to the house of Nott had paid a gruesome price for us slipping through Voldemort's fingers.

"If we'd stayed to fight‒"

"It would have been us up on crosses instead," he bluntly reminds me. He turns and I can feel the weight of his grey, assessing gaze as it considers me. "We're not going back, Hermione. From now on, this is our home."

I don't reply, as my thoughts are a jumble of 'what if?' What if I had stayed, as Ron had asked? Would he still be alive now? What if I had stayed, as Moody had demanded? Could I have stopped Dolohov from cursing him, as he'd once cursed me? What if I had stayed, as Viktor had pleaded? Should I have fought for him instead of Draco? It certainly would have been easier, although it wouldn't have ended as well. I'd be dead, alongside my former Bulgarian boyfriend.

I grieve for what was and what might have been.

A salty, warm breeze blows past us, brushing my cheek, stinging my eyes. It ruffles the short, curling hair at the nape of my neck and gives me chills. Seeing the flesh on my arms pebble, Draco moves closer and wraps an arm around me, sharing his heat.

"We can't go back," he murmurs gently in my ear, and places a small kiss upon the lobe. "And it's too late for regrets now."

I close my eyes against the truth, and rub a hand over the bump of my belly, where our child lays sleeping. At five months, I am finally showing.

 **~.~.~.~.~.~**

"Do you miss _them?"_ I hesitate to ask in the ensuing silence over dinner one night. Draco's relationship with his parents had been destroyed by me, and I never quite knew how to bring them up in his company without hitting a nerve.

He sighs, aggravated and seems resigns to my incessant inquiries regarding the topic of silent regrets. "Granger…" Rolling away from me, he stands and shoves his hands in the pockets of his Muggle Cargo shorts, as if to keep from swinging them aimlessly.

Draco shoves down a lot of anger, but sometimes I can feel it thrumming under his skin, writhing around and waiting for its chance to escape. He's a powerful wizard, but suffers from bouts of low self-confidence, which affects his wandless magic sometimes. If he'd work on that, he could be extremely powerful.

"Of course I miss them," he says, and I can hear the sadness in his tone. His gaze fixes on the dark horizon beyond the beach, and I wonder what he is seeing right then. "Even without the war, though…" He shakes his head, resolute and turns back to look down at me. "I wouldn't have you or the baby if they were with us. We'd never be together as a family, even if they didn't kill you on sight. They'd force us apart."

He falls to his knees before me and takes my hands in his. "I won't give you up, Granger. Not matter how the guilt eats us both alive."

I release his hold on me and wrap my arms around his neck, rising to my knees to meet him. He tucks me under his chin and holds me close to his heart.

"I'll never give you up," he says fiercely, and I know he means it to his soul.

"I'll never let you go, either," I promise him.

The sand's residual warmth from the day's sun is beginning to fade. From my peripheral vision, I watch a Caribbean breeze ruffling Draco's soft hair and know by his slight shiver against me that night's cool blanket is descending. We'll need to seek shelter soon within our tent at the tree line.

By unspoken agreement, we rise together and head for our shared bed. The tent is spacious and heated with charms, big enough for a family inside, even if outside it appears barely large enough for two.

Despite my promise, I go to sleep that night wondering, _"What if…?"_

 **~.~.~.~.~.~**

When my water breaks, Draco brings me to Monserrat's small hospital on the populated side of the island. He casts the Imperius Curse upon the doctors and staff, forcing them into helping us without asking too many questions about our passports or where we are staying.

Our son is born small for his age, but he has a cry loud enough to astonish everyone in the room.

We leave a day later, when we're sure our child is stable enough to travel. I Obliviate the hospital crew of the memory of our being there, and on the way out, I also make sure all records of our stay and use of the facilities is erased. It is as if we had never been.

Months later, little Cassius isn't so little anymore. He's grown, standing thirty inches from crown to heel, and gained nearly two stone. He's walking around now and happily prattles on in a language that is quite foreign to both Draco and me. We call it 'coconut babble'. Every day, we take him to the shoreline, to teach him to see nature in all its beauty. He loves the smooth brush of the ocean over his little toes, giggles at clam bubbles, and at night, he star gazes until he can no longer keep his eyes open.

He will be powerful in magic, like his father. Like me, too, I suppose. I wonder if he won't be someone important in the wizarding world when he grows up. He's almost bound to be, with that much strength writhing under his skin. But will he be good, or will he become like Tom Riddle, a boy twisted by ambition and a thirst for recognition, after having lived an inconsequential, boring life on an island near the equator.

I can't help but wonder each scenario, asking myself, _"What if…?"_

 **~.~.~.~.~.~**

Voldemort's reign in Britain has finally come to an end by the time of Cassius' third birthday. It seems drinking unicorn's blood, which had kept the Dark Lord alive while on the brink of death for so many years, has been the instrument of his downfall at long last.

As England rebuilds, I read from various news sources that a new war has begun as scores are settled between rival Death Eater families. With the way the body count is stacking up, the pure-bloods aren't long for this world, I figure.

We try for a second child then, building a new dynasty of our own as, elsewhere, the old ways fail.

"Bloody hell," Draco groans against my breasts as he sinks hard and deep into me. "It's always so good with you." He loves me like a man possessed with teeth clamped down on my throat, excited that for the first time in years his seed will find its home in me again. "I'll never stop wanting you," he snarls in my ear as his hips thrust wildly. "Never, Hermione."

I moan like a wanton sex slave in his arms as he drags me again and again over the edge with him, meeting his every surge with my own grinding hips.

Cassius sleeps through our night-long shag-fest. Thank goodness for Silencing Charms.

When we finally collapse in a tangle of sweat-slicked limbs, my last thought as our hands entwine over my flat belly is, _"What if…?"_

 **~.~.~.~.~.~**

Harry finds me a year later, stumbling upon me breastfeeding openly on the beach.

He tells me the war has really, truly ended, that the elder Malfoys are dead, and that most of the Weasleys are gone, including Ron. But the Sacred Twenty-Eight is decimated; there are only a few witches and wizards from that regime left, and they are utterly defeated by their own hatred. Britain is healing, coming together. The Ministry is rebuilt with better, more progressive leadership.

"It's finally safe to come home," he tells me.

I believe him. I'm just not sure we want to leave this bright, blooming paradise to return to the ugliness of civilization. Here, Cassius and Lyra are unaware of prejudice and all its evil. They live freely, unfettered by social chains.

In the end, Draco and I agree that our children are going to need magical training, and that there is no better place than Hogwarts—but not now. The world can continue to wait for us to put in an appearance. We're content to let our babies explore their potentials, rather than be constrained by other people's expectations.

Harry reluctantly agrees to our decision, and promises to stay in touch. We say our tearful goodbyes, and then with a pop and flash of blinding light, he is gone.

For several moments after, I continue to stand out on the beach under the noontime sun and gaze over the horizon of rolling, frothy waves.

"What if…?"

I turn to my husband, who watches our son frolic on the beach, playing with a palm frond as if it is a wand.

"Do you wonder what things will be like once we do leave here?" he asks me as I move to stand at his side.

Lyra sleeps at my breast, her dreams sweet, if the smile on her tiny face is any indication. Not even Draco snaking an arm about my waist and drawing me even closer to him wakes her.

"I know what they'll be like," I tell my husband, envisioning that future clearly now. I feel my shoulders tighten for just a second and hear the dread in my voice, but I know there will be no choice soon. Cassian and Lyra will need more than our escape can provide, and we can't stay hidden forever. "We're staying here for now, though," I resolve and nod at the shoreline and at the tiny tent that sits under several palm trees nearby. "For today, this is our home. We're not going back—yet."

Draco nods in full agreement. We're finally of one mind.

As Cassian squeals, chasing a seagull down the beach, Draco releases me and follows after our precocious, little boy. A salty Caribbean breeze blows wildly down the beach, and their matching platinum locks are mussed by it. When my husband catches our child in his arms, they laugh together in joy and it's a sound filled with possibilities for the future. There are no regrets about the present or the past in that sound.

And suddenly, I am relieved.

I look down at little curly-haired Lyra in my arms and wonder if there will be time enough for us to introduce her to another sibling or two before we must go back to England's shores.

 _"What if…?"_

 ** _._**

 _ **~FIN~**_

 _ **.**_


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